Barstool Confessions
by RavenTears
Summary: Meryl Stryfe: the only member of the Trigun group who has not had her past sufficiently scrutinized -- and that's just the way she wants it. Unfortunately for her, Wolfwood recognizes her and dangles the truth over her head. Prequel to TWBU.


Barstool Confessions

"He's faking it, ya know."

"Yeah, I know." Meryl, who was looking over her shoulder at Vash's bawdy dancing, sighed. Just watching him spin around drunkenly made her feel the slightest bit inebriated herself. "But I suppose he's having fun." She then shifted her gaze to the _other_ tall blonde stumbling and bumbling beside him. "And Milly _definitely_ is."

"Let them enjoy themselves, I say. There's no harm in it." Meryl turned back to face the priest sitting next to her at the bar.

There was always something of a devious element in his dark, penetrating eyes, but now she saw something else brewing in their imposing depths – something other than the gleam of alcohol. It was not the nonchalant lightheartedness he usually wore, nor was it the serious weight of a man facing death. It was something brimming closer to understanding – but a level of understanding that made her guts twist and the hair on the back of her neck rise. It felt as though when she looked at him, he could see straight through her skin to the secret place in her heart where she hid her most closely guarded secrets. She felt at that moment of meeting his eyes that he knew everything about her and she was prostrate under his gaze.

It took a fraction of a moment for her to shake off this feeling and she half smiled at him. "I guess not."

She reached for her half-empty glass of chilled tea, but Wolfwood unexpectedly reached out and placed his rough hand over her smaller one. Meryl gasped, her previous impression of him resurfacing in her mind, but his hand was warm and gentle as it closed around hers. When she looked up at him questioningly, he only smiled an empty smile before speaking.

"Your last name – it's Stryfe, right?"

"Y-yes." Some of her courage came back to her after the disconcerting turn of events. "I am Meryl Stryfe of the Bernardelli Insurance Society – you knew that." She paused, trying to remember when she might have told him. "Didn't you?"

"I knew from the Big Girl that you two are working with the insurance hombres trying to keep Vash's exploits under control, but you see, Milly only refers to you as Meryl – why should she bother to mention your last name, right?"

"Yes – and why should you want to know it?"

"Indeed, that is the question, isn't it?" He sighed and leaned back, slowly loosing her hand and letting her fingers slip from his palm. "You see, I once met a Stryfe – a few years back. I didn't know he was a Stryfe at the time – he only called himself Mel – but later I found out his last name. And when I met you on the bus I could tell you must be a Stryfe too."

"How?" she asked with a scowl.

He winked and tapped at his crowsfeet, "It's the eyes."

"So," she folded her hands in her lap and steadied her eyes on him. "You met my brother. So what?"

"_So_, It's _how_ I met your brother that's interesting." He leaned in, almost touching her nose with his own. "And I'm puzzled as to how a girl born into one of the most notorious bandit groups on Gunsmoke could grow up to be an anal-retentive insurance representative packing fifty-odd derringers for 'purely defensive purposes.'"

Meryl nearly choked on her own breath. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. Wolfwood seemed quite pleased with himself for garnering this reaction and leaned back into his barstool looking for all the world like the black cat who'd found the cream.

"There's just one thing I want to ask you," he stated simply, holding up one finger and putting on a quasi-serious expression. He leaned one elbow on the bar and propped up his chin in his hand, while that smarmy expression trickled back into place. "Where are you hiding your tattoo?" he whispered wickedly as he hailed the bartender for a refill.

Meryl snapped.

"_You'll_ never find out." she told him through clenched teeth. "And if you mention any of this to _anyone_, you will wish you'd been left out in the desert." She turned to hop off the barstool but Wolfwood grabbed her by the arm.

"Do you really think he doesn't know?" Meryl looked back to Vash, who was chugging some foul liquor to the delighted shouts of encouragement made by Milly and other onlookers. Her breath hitched in her throat. Was it possible? Did he know?

"Let go of me," she spat under her breath.

"Stay."

"Fine." She yanked her arm free of his now lax grip and turned back to him, glaring angrily. "I _knew_ I didn't like you."

"That's a shame, 'cause I knew I liked you."

"So what now? Are you going to dangle this over my head for the rest of my life?"

"Don't get me wrong, I'm not above blackmail, but no, I have no such intentions. I'll keep your secret ... if ..."

"_If_?"

"If you confess your sins!" From out of nowhere, he slammed his portable confessional on the bar with a grin. "Just one double dollar can redeem your eternal soul!"

"How about I give you _two_ double dollars and we forget the box?" she asked, sparing the mini-chapel a leery glance.

"Deal." Meryl halfheartedly forked over the double dollars which the for-profit priest eagerly pocketed. "O.K., spill your guts."


End file.
